A DAY IN MAY, 1949

[NOTE: The play was written in collaboration with the professor, actor and director Emanuel Pârvu, based on his idea. The final version of this common work was transposed into a show featured on the stage of Bucharest’s Metropolis Theater between December 2018 and February 2019. The version presented here is my own alternative to the final version, in which most passages of dialogue as well as the ending are written differently from the final product. Consider, therefore, this text as a very early draft of the stage play. Also, be warned that at various moments explicit and offensive language is used both towards a man’s personality and his religious adhesion.]

In a narrow room with a tiny window, closed, placed to the far left side, a man (50) sits on a chair dressed in a cassock, facing a simple, old and scratched wooden desk. The desk has nothing on top, except for an ashtray, a reel-to-reel recorder which, for the time the play reflects, which is the early fifties, must be quite new, and a disk phone. The man has a swollen jaw and a blue-to-yellow coloring around one of the eyes, probably due to past blows. He looks around, as if waiting for someone. After a few moments he lowers his head and sighs; noise is being heard outside the room, and soon the door opens and another man appears.

The newcomer, an officer dressed as a civilian, is in his forties, dressed in black pants and suit, with an extremely tight shirt, judging by the strong, uptight collar. It’s something frequently seen in the so-called public functionaries of the fifties behind the Iron Curtain. He holds a diplomat suitcase in his hand. He opens the door slowly and enters, closing the door behind him. The priest checks him out discreetly, trying not to lift his head in a very evident manner. The man is standing on his feet, in front of the desk, and examines the priest. He nods, as if some sort of inaudible communication had taken place between the two, and he places the suitcase on the table. Almost simultaneously with this gesture, he turns and slaps the other man hard in the face. The priest’s head is shaken from the blow, and he takes a few moments to recollect himself.

THE MAN
Does it hurt?

The priest stares at him, but doesn’t answer.

THE MAN
I bet I know what you’re thinking right now: if I were only in this guy’s place, what’d I do to him… Hold on a sec! Now that I think about it, you, the men in black, aren’t allowed to think that way, huh? You’re supporters of the other cheek being turned bullshit. Well, if we’re talking the other cheek, then…

He pretends he’s about to strike the priest on the opposite side of the face. Instinctively, the priest pulls his head and shoulder backwards in a defensive attempt.

THE MAN
Wow! Well, this ain’t right, father. If the first thing we’re giving up is turning the other cheek which, by the way, is kind of a minimal expectation from you, how are we supposed to follow all the other routines?… (He sits down) Which is why, in my opinion, it all comes down to vocation. Some jobs should be chosen based on such and such. Look, I’m by far not the best fit in this business of mine, but the basics at least… Those I own!

THE PRIEST
Some water… Please.

THE MAN (Leans forward)
What?

THE PRIEST
I’d like some water, if you could…

THE MAN
And you’ll get it. Let us just put away some, whatchamacallit, some procedural grounds… Get them out of the way. Since you know that everything we do in these offices is based on protocol. Can’t get out of the chair without protocol… Can’t drink water without protocol… Can’t even shit without protocol… (He leans forward, as if telling some inside joke) This one sounds harsh, I know, but it ain’t mine. Comrade NEAGU, from the headquarters, came up with it. He thinks he’s being funny, but between you and me…

THE PRIEST coughs, staring at the ground.

THE MAN pulls a folder out of the briefcase and starts flicking it through. He, then, restarts the process with the first page, while turning on the reel-to-reel.

THE MAN
Dincea Constantin?

THE PRIEST
Monk Gabriel.

THE MAN
Were you baptized with this name?

THE PRIEST
No, of course not.

THE MAN
Chose it yourself?

THE PRIEST
Yes, upon my engagement into monastic life.

THE MAN
This monastic life as you call it it’s listed in the Constitution of the Romanian People’s Republic as a form of cadging punishable by law. We’ll get to it, just not right away. First, let’s make each other’s acquaintance, if you will. So, are you the man known by the name of Dincea Constantin?

THE PRIEST
Yes.

THE MAN
All right. My name is comrade Ungureanu. From the Party. Well, that’s a bit of a commonplace. You know very well where I’m from, and let’s just say I’ve got some idea about where you come from. Except I need more information.

THE PRIEST
What kind of information?

THE MAN
Some more exact data, to be precise. You see, our group, those who work here, scorn any vague information. And since we’ve kindly invited you here almost… (Does the math) three days now, to share some ideas, you’ve given us fuck all… Hold on, I’m sorry. You guys don’t curse, do you?

THE PRIEST
No.

THE MAN
Ahem. Is that forbidden by your rules, or is to more like a self-inflicted attitude?

THE PRIEST
It’s forbidden. Actually it isn’t. But it’s considered a sin.

THE MAN
A sin. Well, get you stories straight. You’ve already started off with confusing statements. (He restarts the conversation) So you did everything you could to ditch some honest answers. Claiming that you haven’t said what you’ve said, that you’ve never been where you’ve been, that you don’t accurately recall the way it went, that you’ve no idea what’s with the meeting and the response password. It’s rather obvious why the person who has interrogated you before kind of lost their temper and stomped on you a little, after which they’ve send you to solitary, in that narrow room of three-by-three feet, where the bidet is built directly into the floor. Afterwards you’ve been brought out and asked to reconsider, yet you chose to play the same game. And then, you know what happened?

THE PRIEST
N… No.

THE MAN
What happened is that they gave me a call. Now I, I’ll be straightforward with you: I’m in no mood to waste my time in this stupid building. I’m, therefore, hopeful that after two days of solitary confinement, you came to your senses.

THE PRIEST
I don’t understand what you people want from me.

THE MAN
I’ll remind you in a jiff. (He glances at the file, turns one of the papers inside back and forth, after which he stares again at the PRIEST) All right, tell me which year are we in?

THE PRIEST
1949.

THE MAN
The month?

THE PRIEST
May. According to… If you’re saying it’s been two days since… A night, then a day, then the second day… (Adds the timings mentally) I believe that would make today the 19th of May, 1949.

THE MAN (With a hint of irony)
So that’s your take on this, right!?

THE PRIEST
It is.

THE MAN
Well, if you believe you’ve got it… I’m not about to argue here. Let us check the calendar as well!

He takes a small paper calendar out of the briefcase and marks a day with a pen.

THE MAN
Look, I got to give it to you: you’ve got it right. May 19th, 1949. Do you also happen to know which day we’re in?

THE PRIEST
A Saturday, I believe.

THE MAN
Excellent, he’s nailed even the day. What can you say to anyone that points the facts out like that, huh? There’s only this problem that I have… And the problem is that the knowledge you’ve splendidly exhibited today does not match what you said three days ago.

THE PRIEST
Back then I was confused. I told you already!

THE MAN
You told me?

THE PRIEST
To the inquirer before you. It was an officer… Chief sergeant, I believe.

THE MAN
Chief sergeant… (Turns off the reel-to-reel) A moron that couldn’t tell his head from his ass. But his incompetence managed to raise you to level two: non-cooperative and hostile case under investigation. And they’ve also raised the rank of your investigator. I, for one, am a captain.

THE PRIEST
Please, believe me when I say I want nothing more than to clarify the misunderstanding that had happened. I’m by no means non-cooperative or hostile.

THE MAN (Turns the reel-to-reel back to recording)
Misunderstanding, you say?

THE PRIEST
Yes. On that day… Thursday, two days ago… I was just coming out from a confession and I was in a state of… Don’t even know how to call it. I was troubled.

THE MAN
Troubled, huh? But now, now you’re all right?

THE PRIEST
I am better.

THE MAN
Didn’t these guys give you anything, any sedatives, any stuff to make you dizzy, lose your track… And by that I’m merely trying to establish which conditions we’re speaking under. Did they give you any shots? Any pills, anything?

THE PRIEST
Only slaps… (With a slight grimace) If you allow this slight pleasantry.

THE MAN
Oooh, nice!… You’ve got a personality, blackbird. You’re thinking critically, so to speak. Well, if one is facing such witty intellectuals it’s be a crime to, forgive me here, behave like a beast. Please, allow me a bit, to check for that water you’ve been asking for!

He stops the recorder. Stands up, walks towards a corner where lies a bucket of water, in which he inserts a small metal can and brings it back near the detainee. THE PRIEST extends his hand to reach the can, but THE MAN doesn’t let go of it for a few seconds, after which he throws the water into the other one’s face. He, then, immediately throws the can onto the floor and grabs the PRIEST’s head by the back of his neck and forces it against the desk, hitting it twice. While holding the PRIEST’s head down, stuck to the desk, THE MAN bends to the PRIEST’s hearing level.

THE MAN
Listen, you dark-clothed motherfucker… If you believe there’s an afterlife, I suggest you make an attempt to reach it in one piece… That is with intact bones… For if you’re pulling my leg once more with your junk and lies, I’ll send you to your God wrapped up… You’ll reach the clouds in bits and pieces, you fucking idiot!

He lets go. THE PRIEST covers his head with his hands, in a tardy attempt to defense.

THE PRIEST
Why are you hitting me? I haven’t done anything wrong.

THE MAN
That may very well be. That the State Security might have made a mistake. Tell me, how often do you think we make mistakes?

THE PRIEST
I don’t know.

THE MAN
You can take a wild guess, if you want to.

THE PRIEST
I don’t want to.

THE MAN
That’s the right answer. Between you and me, we’ve been making mistakes by the ton. But nobody has yet risked his neck to make a statistic. Especially those who could make one, but knew what was good for them. Anyway, I believe that you’ve been officially informed as to why you’re being detained here.

THE PRIEST
They told me a few things… But I still reckon it’s an unfortunate mistake.

THE MAN
Like you say, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of us being wrong… It might be us… But then, if you take a look at what is says on this paper, things get more complicated. Look for yourself. (He waves a paper in front of the PRIEST, without actually showing its content) If we were likely to be wrong after some days of grilling a suspect, do you think the people at the registration office would have still went through all the trouble to issue an arrest warrant? (He places the warrant under the PRIESTS’s gaze) DINCEA CONSTANTIN, monk by profession, therefore no profession, former employee of the „New Future” Paints and Polishing Compounds Plant from the town of Slatina, address of residence this and that… We order the arrest of the aforementioned for suspicion of involvement in acts of sabotage and high treason pertaining to the interests of the People’s Republic of Romania. You’re guessing these guys are wrong?

THE PRIEST
I don’t know. Maybe someone did something… But it wasn’t me.

THE MAN
Maybe we’ve confused you for someone else?

THE PRIEST
I don’t know.

THE MAN
But you’re not excluding this possibility, aren’t you?

THE PRIEST
I… I cannot know. I see you’ve got my details… My name… I remember being asked about my whereabouts in relation to a church where I’ve attended, not long ago, a confession… Trying to help a poor soul, a former parishioner… And pray for the man. But, other than being there I did not do anything wrong… Certainly not a crime against the republic… Or whatever it says there.

THE MAN (Turns the recorder back on)
So… On your arrest warrant we have suspicion of high treason and sabotage. It’s not a common or, if you will, a civil crime, for if it were, we’d have sent you to the State Militia and they’d have probably kept you in custody indefinitely, maybe even forgetting about you at all, until receiving due trial. We, on the other hand, can’t forget about you. And it’s not just your situation… It’s the whole fucking problem that you’ve raised which is of a pressing nature. (He lifts his hands, defenseless, in irony, realizing he’s been cursing again) I’m not going to apologize anymore for my language, since you can yourself admit that I’ve tried being polite and it’s lead me nowhere. Because you’re not behaving.

THE PRIEST
But I didn’t do anything!

THE MAN
Well, you probably didn’t, until three days ago… When a gentleman has asked you, while standing in the park in front of the Holy Renaissance Church, which day was it. And at that moment you said… (Looks through the papers) You said these words: May 27th, 1946, the day of our nation’s independence.

THE PRIEST
I was confused. I’d just gotten out of a…

THE MAN
Yeah, I know. A confession.

THE PRIEST
Yes. And I had this eerie feeling like it was a whole different day.

THE MAN
A whole different day three years ago?

THE PRIEST
I’m not sure. I remember everything very vaguely.

THE MAN
And that’s exactly the issue, pal! For when you spoke, you came out of nowhere with an extraordinarily precise sentence… But when the time came to explain what made you say it, you’re all of a sudden suffering from a head rush. Which is why these people here had to drag me out of my vacation and bring me here so I can restore some amnesiac – or confused – priest to reality.

THE PRIEST
I swear to you that I barely remember the event. It seemed to me back then that I had said the wrong date and that I was, I don’t know, like in a state of trance… Except I did not realize that had happened until I found myself surrendered by… By a group of civilians who handcuffed me and threw me inside a vehicle.

THE MAN
And you ended up here.

THE PRIEST
Yes.

THE MAN
All right. Well, let me explain to you the rest. You know where you are, right?

THE PRIEST
The State Security building, I suppose.

THE MAN
National Security Agency, Bucharest branch, Department One. You know what we do here, in Department One?

THE PRIEST
Not really.

THE MAN
We investigate acts of sabotage and betrayal of state policies for the benefit of an enemy force. Are you Romanian?

THE PRIEST
Yes.

THE MAN
Then we get to deal with you. If you were German or, I don’t know, Swedish, we’d have sent you to another Department. Something called Affairs of International Espionage. I’m not saying that some people over there might not be interested in your case. But now, for the time being, you’re mine.

THE PRIEST
With all due respect… And I apologize, because I don’t wish to upset you… I believe there is no reason for me to be detained here.

THE MAN (Stops the recorder, while remaining calm)
Same for me… The same goes for me, buddy, for I also have no business being here… I told you they’ve recalled me from my vacation… That’s what happens when they think you’re the best at this kind of stuff, all the unfinished investigations are being poured on you. Well, I’m not bragging that I’m the best investigator here, there are plenty of people who could… But none of these fuckers are here now. I am. And I feel like I need to explain to you how things work around here. Are you interested to find out how they work?

THE PRIEST
I’m not, With all due respect.

THE MAN
I get you. But I’ll explain them to you anyway. Now, see, there are two methods at hand here. The first: we kick you around until you remember everything, the problem being that, once we’re done with this procedure, it’s going to be pretty hard for you to hold the pen in your hands and write. The second: we give you a chance to write your statement unharmed, and afterwards we still have to kick you around because we have this gut feeling that you’ve probably been trying to lead us on and just scribbled some bullshit on a piece of paper. Usually there are no dilemmas about the procedure, but every now and then my colleagues get confused, and that’s when they bring me in. (He stops, as if waiting for something).

THE PRIEST (Reacts to the MAN’s pause, scared)
And you…

THE MAN
I, Alexandru Ungureanu, who had the privilege to fight in the war and also go through a preparation stage with some professionals, in Moscow, I brought about some changes to this classic procedure of interrogation. Would you like to find out about my contribution?

THE PRIEST (Slightly trembling)
Mmm.. No.

THE MAN
Well, I said I was going to enlighten you anyway. Pay attention, then. For starters, I show the suspect that I know why they’re here. I know what the man had said, know what he’d done, I even know what he won’t admit to. All I need from this person – or what I don’t already know – is usually a name, an address, a brief story to connect the dots.

THE PRIEST
But I don’t know anything that you might think will help you to…

THE MAN
Hold on, my fellow, so I get to the end of this. Now, it’s only natural the person in front of me would claim they know nothing, that it’s a mistake, that we’ve made the biggest mistake ever and whatnot. And then… You know what I usually do?

He stands up, approaches the PRIEST and starts clenching the top of his nose. The PRIEST screams in pain. THE MAN returns to his seat and continues calmly.

THE MAN
Most of the civilians we bring here have this idea that at some point they’ll be released and that they’ll be re-integrated into society. What’s more preposterous, is we have our share of colleagues that keep on entertaining this illusion. They avoid hurting the people too badly, or hitting them in the face… They usually take a nightstick to your liver or a kick in the kidney area… Not to leave marks, as it were. But those who reach my desk, my dark-clothed collocutor, are going to get it right in the face. I break their nose, stomp on their lips, I punch their cheeks until they double in size. I meat-process their faces. And those who can think for themselves, they’ll get it. They know. Tell me, do you have any idea why I damage one’s face rather than anything else?

THE PRIEST
Yes.

THE MAN
All right, let’s hear it?

THE PRIEST
Because we’re never getting out of here.

THE MAN
That’s it, my boy! Bravo! I bash their face in so they know there won’t be redemption afterwards. They’ve got nothing to expect, they’ll be here forever. No way out.

THE PRIEST
Look, in all sincerity… I understand that I was wrong, I understand when and where, yet, I have to say that this approach to it all… It seems, and please, don’t get upset, arbitrary… And it’s of no use to anyone.

THE MAN (Checks his own fingernails, not minding the other)
Yeah, all these boys can go and ramble on with their stories, I know I ain’t goin’ for any one of those… I would just come here day after day and take care of them, until they don’t look anything like they did before, not by a long shot. Sometimes a month, sometimes two… Ten, if I must! The more the challenges, the merrier. You see, to be frank with you, it’s also a way to keep myself in shape. That’s my training, my exercise. You get it?

THE PRIEST
Yes.

THE MAN (Turns the recorder back on)
All right. Let’s, therefore, start from the beginning, and try fewer mistakes this time, will you? (Pause) PETRE DABIJA. Have you heard of him?

THE PRIEST
I think I have.

THE MAN
Have you or haven’t you?

THE PRIEST
I have. He was some party member, perhaps.

THE MAN
Correct. Comrade Dabija, along with comrade Titel Petrescu were the creators, back in 1945, of the Romanian Social Democratic Party. Normally, in the ’45 elections they should have placed their candidates on common lists with the newly created Communist Party… Except this comrade, Dabija, opposed the common candidacy. He claimed he was expecting some sort of Romanian brand of socialism, some independence from the USSR, some shit, after all. Titel Petrescu expelled him from the party, and for a while no one has heard of him. Of course, you know that by the end of the election preliminaries even Petrescu himself chose single candidacy for his party, like the stinking traitor that he is. Him, we’ve arrested last year, now he’s at the Jilava Penitentiary, we’ll be moving him to Sighet, so he won’t get too used to the good life. Dabija managed to get away for the time being. But I personally feel that, with your help, we might get to him sooner rather than later.

THE PRIEST
And how am I supposed to help you with that?

THE MAN
By focusing on giving me a convenient answer. Here’s how it goes. From a trusted source, we’ve grasped some rumors. That this Dabija guy would be hiding within some resistance group which – and here’s the interesting part – instead of climbing into the mountains, like all the guerilla dogs that we’re picking apart each month, one group after another, decided to stay and do their subversive activity within urban areas.

THE PRIEST
I know nothing of the sort.

THE MAN
Well, that’s just some intel there, not that valuable since it’s not giving us coherent data. The important part, though, is that this Dabija guy has played quite a role, apparently, in the sabotaging of several places of interest to us. Have you heard of any significant sabotage acts in the past?

THE PRIEST
What’s been written in the papers, maybe.

THE MAN
Some issues have been covered by the press, some haven’t. The essence is that, for the past years, the number of locations which have either blown up or were burned to the ground has increased dramatically. Like three plants, one factory, one printing house and a communist youth training school. Are you familiar with any of these events?

THE PRIEST
I couldn’t say I am.

THE MAN clenches his fist and motions like he means to stand up. THE PRIEST is instinctively covering his face.

THE PRIEST
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear it!

THE MAN rests in his chair, inhaling deeply. His patience, relatively steady so far, seems to be running out.

THE MAN
You’d deserve to get one across the eyes right now just for pushing this further… But I’ll take you one more step in the right direction, so you can once and for all decide whether you want to stick to this hole of lies you’ve been digging yourself into, or come to the surface. Anyway, we found out that this Dabija fellow will meet someone, a liaison, on May 16th, in the park in front of the Holy Renaissance Church. Some time in the afternoon.

THE PRIEST
But this is… Do you realize that I don’t even know how Dabija looks like?

THE MAN
Hold on, let me clarify it. Knowing that this meeting was going to happen, we’ve filled the park, since early in the morning, with our agents. And I’m not talking some suspicion plainclothes assholes that stick out like shit on a mirror… No, we’ve brought in the best of the best… A father who’s brought his son to play outside, a working man, in overalls… A respectable lady who went to church to light a candle for a dearly departed… Some guys working nearby, at the railway… Bottom line is, all these people were chosen carefully, handpicked with the utmost attention. Except this Dabija guy never showed up.

THE PRIEST
Well, then, why am I being…

THE MAN (Interrupting)
He never showed up, this fucker, this son of a seaport whore! Was supposed to be there, but he never came. So, we’ve said to ourselves, maybe someone has told him off. So we stuck around thinking that maybe the liaison might still be present. The liaison, the man Dabija was supposed to get in contact with and talk about whatever the fuck they had to talk about.

THE PRIEST
But you didn’t know how the liaison looked like.

THE MAN
We didn’t. We had a hint of how Dabija could have looked… Not like a few years ago, when he was in politics, we’ve got a ton of pictures of him from back then. We imagined how he might have looked like if he’d grown a beard, or shaved his head, stuff like that. But the liaison, the contact person, we didn’t have a clue on who that might be.

THE PRIEST
So where’s the suspicion about me coming from, then?

THE MAN
Well, where do you think it’s coming from?

THE PRIEST
Because I’m a monk? And you’ve got something against monks?

THE MAN
Leaving aside the fact that you’re miles away from persuading anyone you are a true and gifted God’s earthly representative – and I’ve read plenty of faces to be fooled by appearances… So leaving that aside, I believe you, yourself, weren’t quite keen on passing by unobserved in that there park.

THE PRIEST
I was posed a question, I gave an answer… Maybe the wrong answer. But a man can make mistakes.

THE MAN
A man can make mistakes, huh? He can turn everything around with one wrong move, then apologize as if things would get better. I’ve seen this kind of irresponsibility before, but when someone gives a person an answer such as you have… A significant and definite statement, that can’t be explained by mysticism, or belief, or the holy sanctimonies… Then you don’t get to sit here and pretend that you’ve been mistreated and wronged by the authorities, that the investigator has got it in for you because he’s an atheist and you’re a male in nun’s clothing, that you’re beaten because you’re not trusted enough by those that you’ve been feeding horseshit to… You don’t get to cry your eyes out when you’re getting the baton across the face until the flesh and blood mix into some sort of a crap pudding… Essentially, what I’m saying is don’t give me any more hit by the sun or religiously confused stances, for I will make it hurt and lasting, do you get me?

THE PRIEST (Resigned)
I won’t do it, then.

THE MAN
Do what?

THE PRIEST
Pretend to be something that I’m not. I declare myself willing to listen, without interference, to the accusation brought upon me, from beginning to end.

THE MAN
So you’re demanding stuff now, huh? You have to hear everything?

THE PRIEST
I’m not demanding. I’m just tired. And my bones are hurting.

THE MAN
Let’s make this short, then. Here goes… (Looks at the folder in front of him) From an anonymous tip, we knew the password phrase was going to be a calendar-related question. Dabija was supposed to face his liaison and ask which date we were in. As in which day is today.

THE PRIEST (Shakes his head)
Sir… I’m telling you, this is a big mistake. It is now… Such as it was back then.

THE MAN
So much for no interference. But I hear you. We might not have accomplished a lot by asking that question. But we had to try, right? We had to ask everyone passing by.

THE PRIEST
What about the man… The liaison, the connection that was supposed to be approached by Dabija and asked for the date… That man, if he hadn’t seen Dabija coming… Do you think he would have answered the question by giving up the pass phrase if he didn’t recognize the person who was asking?

THE MAN
We don’t know whether they knew each other or not.

THE PRIEST
You know, there’s no way you cannot know. This is the place, you said so yourself, where guessing is not a game. You know everything ahead of time, you just want one’s admission of guilt. And you know, you surely do, that the contact person would have only answered with the pass phrase if he had recognized Dabija.

THE MAN
Let’s suppose so. But what if he messed up? What if he was in a state of… What was it that you have called your own state, at the moment? Confusion?

THE PRIEST
From what you’ve told me, I gather that you believe Dabija’s connection to have been the same type of person… Shrewd… A saboteur, a subversive, right?

THE MAN
Probably.

THE PRIEST
Probably? Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you claim that we’re in a place where probability is allowed, then you’re contradicting yourself. Do you really think that if I were that liaison, if I had indeed been a saboteur… I would have placed myself in harm’s way by giving your people the pass phrase instead of giving it to DABIJA?

THE MAN
I see your logic is strong. But you do know we have to try all the alternatives… And you could definitely imagine that there was no way we’d get out of the park that day with dick in hand, once we’ve realized Dabija was not going to show up, right?

THE PRIEST
I guess you’re right.

THE MAN
After a whole day of melting there, under the sun, tricked by that son of a bitch who was probably safe and sound, laughing at us, our superiors gave the order: boys, anyone that passes by needs to be asked what date it was, and give an answer. Can’t let them go without an answer. Do you know how many people we’ve asked?

THE PRIEST
How many?

THE MAN
Seventy, if now eighty. Every person passing by, including you. And you, when asked…

THE PRIEST
I said what I said. I said it was the month of may.

THE MAN
The month, the month is nothing! You said, liberally: May 27th, 1946, the day of our nation’s independence. Word by word.

THE PRIEST
I was confused, I told you.

THE MAN
And I’m not arguing with you.

THE PRIEST
So you’d admit that there is the possibility of the State Security making a mistake… And that I could have been in some sort of a trance-induced error… And for being delirious this one time, you’re willing to detain me in here for days and beat me?

THE MAN (Chuckles silently)
Listen to him: delirious… My boy, you’re the one detaining yourself here, not us. You, by coming up with ridiculous stories.

THE PRIEST
It’s inhuman to ask someone to pay or be responsible for… For being wrong once, for saying random stuff… After being in the sun there, the same melting sun you’ve talked about, after hours of not sleeping and after the troubles within that were created by hearing my parishioner’s confession… I wouldn’t know myself why I came up with that answer… It could have even been a verse or a line from a book that was mixed up in my mind at the time.

THE MAN
So you’re sticking to the insolation story, and the lyrical state which had overwhelmed you… The lyrism that came out of your ass and wandered towards the sun, unrelentlessly… Who knows, indeed, what went through your mind, but I’ll be honest with you: we would have picked up anyone who said anything but May 19th or I’ve got no idea, excuse me, because those were the only two possible answers: either you know the date or you don’t. Or do you figure that there might have been other possible answers?

THE PRIEST
I don’t know. But to torment a man over nothing…

THE MAN
Over nothing? (With a harsh tone) Stop playing silly, you motherfucker… You know very well that when anyone is being asked about the date, they either know it or they don’t. You say it, or you excuse yourself and get the fuck further along. And the proof was right there… Most people gave one of these two answers. There was this one, a mute… Now that cocksucker had no answers to give for there were none in him… Mooooh, meeeeh, he’d go, like a goat, forcing his throat to sound something and spinning his head like crazy… What the fuck were we supposed to do with that one? His whole body was shaking as if he had a stick of fireworks up the ass. And then there was this other one that wanted to be original, and cursed out our guy… We took care of that fool two streets further, where we put him down and kicked him in the back of the head until he stopped moving altogether… He might be lying on the sidewalk still, who knows? Bottom line is that one person, one person only, out of almost a hundred said this one line that’s left us all speechless: that it was may 27th, in the year of grace 1946, during the day of my dick’s independence from my ass.

He rests on his chair’s back, with arms wide open, in a gesture of: what else is there to talk about?

THE PRIEST
Look, I’ll explain it. And I’ll admit to my mistake. It was a joke. I thought I was being funny.

THE MAN
Say what? You thought you were making a joke, you say?

He jumps out of the chair and takes a baton from his briefcase. Once he’s behind the PRIEST, starts hitting the guy’s back, without even bothering to stop the recorder. THE PRIEST screams in pain. Eventually THE MAN stops and gazes down at the PRIEST.

THE MAN
Mind you, I haven’t hit your face yet. However, there’s still time. So, pay attention to what I’m saying. Your answer, that 27th of May date in ’46 was no error, no joke, no funny story or whatchamacallit. After we brought you in, we started to investigate you thoroughly. First thing we’ve stumbled upon: you’re not really a priest.

THE PRIEST
Not a priest. A monk.

THE MAN
There are no papers to certify this.

THE PRIEST
As a monk, one doesn’t get papers… To be sworn into a monastery one has only to bring a written request form and a recommendation letter from their confessor.

THE MAN
Which monastery do you belong to?

THE PRIEST
Adancata, in the Olt County.

THE MAN
And who was the confessor who recommended you?

THE PRIEST
A senior priest from the Church of the Holy Renaissance… But that was a long time ago. He’s not there anymore.

THE MAN
But you, apparently, are pretty stuck to the place.

THE PRIEST
I prayed for someone.

THE MAN
Earlier you said that you went there to listen to someone’s confession.

THE PRIEST
Technically speaking… But I was there more for praying purposes… To ask that the lasting peace of God would descend unto the poor soul of my servant. I wrote down a diptych and I squeezed it into the box of mercies.

THE MAN
So you lied about the confession?

THE PRIEST
Well, it… It wasn’t a confession per se.

THE MAN
Who did you pray for, then?

THE PRIEST
A former colleague.

THE MAN
Colleague from where?

THE PRIEST
From the University.

THE MAN
I see. What did you major in? (Glances through the file) Chemistry?

THE PRIEST
Yes. In 1920.

THE MAN
And you worked at the Paints and Polishing Compounds Plant in Slatina until…

THE PRIEST
Until 1944.

THE MAN
And then you left. Why was that, exactly?

THE PRIEST
I didn’t get along with the new owners.

THE MAN
I see. Did they mistreat you? Or accused you of doing something?

THE PRIEST
No. I felt I just couldn’t work there anymore.

THE MAN
Constantin, you sly son of a… Or Gabriel the monk, or whatever the fuck you like to call yourself nowadays… You’ve got this method of beating about the bush until you’re driving one crazy… And it’s not that you, yourself, can’t keep up with the web of lies you’re weaving, it’s also the fact that nothing you’ve told me yet fits within the category of truth.

THE PRIEST
It’s because I did not prepare anything to match something else. I know I’m innocent.

THE MAN
I see. I’ve got no choice, then, but to tell you what we’re aware of, ourselves. We’re aware that DINCEA CONSTANTIN was fired from the Paints and Polishing Compounds Plant from Slatina in September of ’44 after 20-something containers of flammable product have gone missing, as the sole suspect of said act of theft, targeted accordingly by one of the guards working the night shift. We’re also aware that in Slatina, in 1946, an explosion took place. Do you have any idea, your holiness, where this explosion occurred?

THE PRIEST
I remember something about it… But I don’t know the exact facts.

THE MAN
It happened at a printing press building. You know on which date?

THE PRIEST
I wouldn’t.

THE MAN
I know, it’s almost unbelievable. On May 27th, 1946.

THE PRIEST
That can’t be!

THE MAN
That’s exactly what we’ve said. We’ve said: it’s utterly impossible that all such data just connects randomly at the drooling mouth of some unidentified monk. That’d be a miracle. Tell me, do you believe in miracles?

THE PRIEST
Sometimes.

THE MAN
You fucking bag of crap… You do or you don’t?

THE PRIEST
I never did. Not even for a while, after I retired to the monastery. But lately I started thinking about them and I somehow feel that they might be possible.

THE MAN
We don’t think they are. I, personally, at least. But I am willing to admit that there’s that time in a man’s life in which he finds himself clueless as to what should he believe in. How do you deal with those crisis, how do you handle them?

THE PRIEST
I ask the heavens for strength.

THE MAN
You know what I do? I drag my feet to work and I start cracking some schmuck’s ribs and bones. I hit them and I kick them until I almost feel them breathing their last gasp right there, before me. And when that poor motherfucker, all bled out, starts clinging onto me with his last shred of strength and cries: forgive me… Forgive me, I’m dying… And “don’t kill me,” that’s what they plead for sometimes, then I let them go. And while I let them go, I also understand that this entire existential crisis that I’ve been through, this fit of despair makes no sense whatsoever. How could it make sense since I, I alone hold in my hands the life and the death of someone? One could have such a crisis when they’re weak, when they have the constant feeling of dependence on someone else. But when one is the strongest, when one is on top of it all, does it sound to you that such a crisis is even justified? Wouldn’t that be a paradox?

THE PRIEST
Perhaps.

THE MAN
What perhaps, monk, when there’s no question about it? You pray to someone in power to give you strength, to save you. I am, practically and essentially, the person you’re praying to. You just haven’t realized yet, you keep on giving me fake names and imagining things about me. You don’t know who holds the real power and who doesn’t. But when the time comes and you’ll know… It’ll be your head and your ass on the line all the way, DINCEA! You mom will start crying on her own for you, no matter where she is, CONSTANTIN, in the here or the hereafter… When the real power will be unleashed, you’ll be crushed, and smashed, and fucked… And your conviction will turn to dust, the finest, the purest dust there is… But dust it’ll be. You believe me or not?

THE PRIEST stays silent, staring at the ground.

THE MAN
So, after reading your file and listening to your answer I kept on trying to draw the necessary conclusions to myself, and I’ve decided that you’ve either gone mad on the spot, or you really thought you were doing your duty.

THE PRIEST
What duty? When?

THE MAN
When you gave the pass phrase. My feeling is that, somehow, you were under the impression that the guy who asked you the question, the undercover worker, was DABIJA himself. Is that what you thought?

THE PRIEST
No.

THE MAN
You must have thought, then, that he was a messenger sent by DABIJA?

THE PRIEST
Didn’t think anything.

THE MAN
Listen, do you see that this card, the one they you’re playing now, the insanity card, with the state of trance, the insolation, the fuck your mother in the ass card is not working out for you? Do you?

THE PRIEST
I see it.

THE MAN
What we needed to know about you I told you we already know. The rest we’ll tie up eventually, and then we’ll tie you up. How about this word play, did you enjoy it?

THE PRIEST
No.

THE MAN
From what we’ve been studying in the case of the theft of flammable canisters at the Paints and Polishing Compounds Plant two people were actually sent to trial. (Glances through the files) You and a woman, NINA ANDREESCU, the manager of the storage unit where the materials were deposited. She was tried in ’45 and , from what it says here, it looks like she took the entire blame on herself… She claimed responsibility for stealing the materials… For transferring them to another location, where they weren’t retrieved anyway… She stated she did not have any accomplices whatsoever… It’s only natural we’ve convicted her since she was so stupid… She could have easily have gone your way instead of staying put… She could have hidden in a monastery, or become a prostitute… Who knows which of the girls at the famous Stone Cross Brothel did what and to whom… She could have climbed the mountains with the so called patriots and become an outlaw… Or if she loved the city, she could have even climbed the highest building in Bucharest, the Postal Palace and yell her cries from up there… We’d have locked her up in an insane asylum and that would have been the end of it. Let me see where she’d been arrested… Oh, it was right here. It was us, at this here Department who have investigated her and charged her with sabotage.

THE PRIEST (Mumbles to himself)
Nina…

THE MAN
Nina, my boy, Nina… Twenty years hard labor for criminal negligence towards the people’s goods… From our offices she moved straight to Periprava, on the Danube. How the hell was it that you weren’t anywhere to be found? You were, thanks to your divinity and spirit of initiative, a monk already. God’s army, a newfound mystic. Who did you say gave you the recommendation?

THE PRIEST
He’s not at the Church of Holy Renaissance anymore…

THE MAN
See how you make me wanna stomp on your head again? What did I ask you and what kind of answer is that? Tell me his name.

THE PRIEST
Father Meletie.

THE MAN
Meletie, Meletie… (Seeks through the files) Not in here. But we’ll send the boys in tomorrow morning to ask around. If you’re lying, you’ve got yourself another week in solitary. This time, with no sleep. You’ll keep your eyes open, locked onto the peephole, so the guard can check your status on the clock.

THE PRIEST
Nina was not guilty.

THE MAN
Mother of crap, are you still on this? I guess she must have been your chosen one… Tell me, did you like her?

THE PRIEST
She was a nice girl. Quiet. She didn’t deserve to be sent there.

THE MAN
What about me, you asshole? Do I deserve to fuck along my evening with you here, instead of being at home, eating dinner with my wife and kids? What about the sentinels outside? Do they deserve to walk the halls ten hours in a row every day only to make sure that some criminals against the state are doing what they were told? And you, do you deserve to be so stupid to end up in a place like this only because someone asks you the date and you quote some fucking literature instead of just shrugging as any normal, less cretin motherfucker, would have done? Did your whore from the Paint and Polishes Plant deserve to cross paths with an idiot like you and spend her youth chopping reed? Now, all these are a given… They happened and there’s nothing you can do to reverse anything. Just think that maybe in eighteen years of Periprava, she’ll have learned her lesson and you might reunite later with a smarter girl. Smart enough to run away when she sees your mug.

THE PRIEST massages his temples in a state of great inner tension.

THE MAN
So the 27th of May 1946, the date you mentioned in the park, coincides with the explosion at the Slatina’s Printing Press. And I bet that for this bombing some of the stolen materials from the Paints Plant in ’44 were used. Which is probably why instead of just getting a simple reprimand, especially at a time when shit got stolen daily from everywhere, the bosses decided to fire both you and the girl. Didn’t want to deal with your saboteur faces any longer. This I got. What I haven’t got yet is the second part of your famous quote. Could you explain to me what was all that smack about the nation’s independence? That one was so deep, it passed me by.

THE PRIEST (After a while)
Are you familiar with the case of the „Spark Gazette”, the Communist newspaper, issue of March 7th, 1945?

THE MAN
The issue which published, along the list of the newly formed Groza government, a bunch of nonsensical articles? I know it.

THE PRIEST
Have you investigated it?

THE MAN
Of course we have. We brought in all the members of the redactional committee… All of them, right here. I, myself, wasn’t present, but I know the case. Everyone has been brought in for questioning: photographers, paginators, even the people from the sports section… Some were even slapped around for a bit, until we’ve got out conclusion.

THE PRIEST
And you’ve got your conclusion?

THE MAN
We solved the case. It seems there was this literary club for youngsters in Bucharest, and some of its members got a personal initiative to write, without asking anyone’s permission, some praiseful articles addressed to some working people from the socialist industry. The articles weren’t quite bad, which is what saved their asses. The problems was, some of those articles made it to the front page, while the list of the newly formed Groza government was put on the second page. By the evening, when the second edition – well, the reprint – came out, they’ve remedied it. Pulled some of that stuff out and made room for the list.

THE PRIEST
Do you know how many copies of the first edition came out?

THE MAN
A few thousand… We’ve managed to pick most of them off the streets by the afternoon. Call it a publicistic error. But fixed, nevertheless.

THE PRIEST
And I thought you knew everything. You see, those articles were written and inserted there at the specific order of Petru DABIJA.

THE MAN (Becomes more attentive)
Is that right?

THE PRIEST
They were written by a group of literary club members, except not from Bucharest, but from Slatina. Dabija paid them to write praiseful stories on the industry workers, then he bribed one of the paginators from the ”Spark Gazette” to put them in certain places.

THE MAN
Interesting. So what you’re telling me is that DABIJA paid some people to praise the communist regime?

THE PRIEST
No. Those articles were only meant to praise the activity taking place in specific locations.

THE MAN (Almost refreshed)
You see, you fucking bandit, that now we’re getting somewhere? Didn’t I tell you know enough stuff to entertain us, if it weren’t for you bloody method of pushing it, and avoiding it, and… You wanted to get me mad, that’s clear. It’s like you’re asking for someone to try and pull the words out of your mouth by force. We’ve actually got some pliers made just for that, for pulling words out of one’s mouth, I’ll show it to you if you want to, I’m on it. We could even try it, if you were up for it. So go on, tell me what’s with those specific places mentioned in the articles?

THE PRIEST
They were places especially chosen and printed there… With details, with working hours, with the exact address…

THE MAN (Stroke by sudden suspicion)
The exact address? (Turns off the recorder) Give me an example!

THE PRIEST (Counts from memory)
The „Red Star” Plant from Corabia… The Plant near the Chemical Research Institute in Pitesti… The „United future” plant from Caracal… The factory for bearing parts from Craiova… The Unit for Preparation and Training of Communist Youth from Segarcea… Finally, the Printing Press from Slatina, called „The Nation’s Independence.”

THE MAN (Following the monk’s words as in a state of trance, repeats slowly)
Bearing parts… Communist Youth Training Unit… Nation’s independence… All the places that blew up…

He jumps on his feet and pushes the monk to the ground, trying to strangle him.

THE MAN
You fucking fuck… You bandit… Fascist retard… You’re telling me that you’ve printed your black list in the „Spark Gazette” under our very nose? You demented fuck, I’ll kill you… I will fucking kill you, you dirtbag!

THE PRIEST (Gasping)
So now you want to… You want to know where Dabija is… Right?… Is that what you want?

THE MAN (Lets the pressure go, also gasping with effort)
Where is he? Where the fuck is he, you bastard?

THE PRIEST (Almost whispering, but loud enough)
The Anemona Street, number 28… Corner with Lugoj Street…

THE MAN stands up disoriented. He’s been visibly affected by the other man’s words, and for a second he’s clueless to what he should do. He grabs the baton from the desk, aiming at the monk’s head, but he doesn’t strike.

THE MAN
You know this address? How do you… (Pause) How long have you been watching this address?

THE PRIEST
I don’t know it. But Dabija told me to buy time and then let you in on the details about the „Spark Gazette”… He said you were going to lose your temper… And when you’d have reached that point, I was supposed to give this address to you.

THE MAN
What’s about to happen at this address?

THE PRIEST
I don’t know. Probably manslaughter. Or a bombing. Or maybe something else. Dabija has got a map of all the places of some interest to him. Every week he adds one or two more on it.

THE MAN
And you’re going to tell me now that you don’t know who resides there? You’ll tell me you’ve got no knowledge of this plan?

THE PRIEST
It’s the truth. I’m doing what I’m supposed to without asking questions. It’s better that way. Since three days ago I knew I had to be brought in here and get beaten for some crime… For some imaginary crime, or maybe for some of my past sins. I’ve made my peace with it. But I don’t know who resides at that address. I suppose it’s someone important.

THE MAN
You suppose?

THE PRIEST
Dabija never tells me his plans. He only teaches me what to say or do when I’m headed for trouble.

THE MAN
Well, now you’re there. You’re at the end of your troubles. That’s my house, you fucking, stinking scum. It’s where my family lives.

He grabs the phone while he rubs his jaw, thinking and processing continuously. While he talks on the phone, THE PRIEST goes to sit back down on his chair.

THE MAN (On the telephone)
Operator… Here is captain Ungureanu, code 33104… Put me through to 0247… (While waiting, he looks at the PRIEST) Listen, motherfucker, if you did anything to them… (Gasps) Fucking terrorist scumbags… (On the phone, with a sigh of relief) Hello… Adina… You’re at home?… Is George and Margaret with you?… Both of them are there? (More relaxed) Both of them. (A bit more relaxed) I… I just thought that… No, I’m here in an interrogatory… There’s this… It’s something connected this case I’m working, and I thought that… Never mind… (Suddenly he stops, with a steady, cold glance) Who? (Pause) What colleague?… (Repeats what he hears) My colleague, lieutenant Dabija… Is waiting there for me… Stopped by for a short visit… (Inhales deeply, staring at the desk, in a supreme concentration) Put him on, will you? (After a pause, into the phone) Listen to me, you savage fuck… If you even… If you’re thinking of… If you touch one hair on their head, this motherfucker that I’m looking at… I’ll fucking crucify him to the wall… Nails and staples, I’ll hammer them all into his flesh, I’ll bleed him dry… And you, when I get to you… You hear me? (Pause) What are you saying? (Repeats after the others) You brought me back my gasoline cans and had my wife help you place them in my garage… Under the house… For it’s better to be under the house so it doesn’t smell… (He sweats abundantly, wipes off his forehead with the back of his palm) I understand you, you fuck, you don’t have to repeat it!… I see… The device that you „borrowed”… You’ve got it, so I shouldn’t look for it… Since nowadays it’s all in the push of a button… The push of a… (As if talking to himself, while rubbing his forehead, on a slower, more desolate tone) Fuck you, you fucking fuck… You cocksucker… (Pauses, listens to the other one’s words) Yeah… Yes, he’s here… He’s in front of me!… Wait! (To THE PRIEST) He wants to speak to you!

THE PRIEST bends forwards and reaches slowly for the phone.

THE PRIEST
Yes, Petru… It’s all going exactly as you’ve predicted… Or, well, as expected… Yeah, they’ve pushed me around a bit, I’m not going to deny it… But I’m all right… Yes, just like you said… Never know when the burden begins or when it ends… We’ve got our cross to carry… Tell him what? (Glances at the MAN) That you’ve tied up the fuses? And the detonator is hooked? (Repeats for THE MAN) He’s tied the… he said to tell you he has tied the…

THE MAN grabs his hand.

THE MAN
Listen… Listen to me!…

THE PRIEST (On the phone)
Wait a second! (To THE MAN) What is it?

THE MAN
Let’s make a deal.

THE PRIEST
What deal?

THE MAN
I can’t let you go. You know I can’t. But we need to work something out… So that my family won’t get hurt. And I’ll make sure you won’t get hurt either. Will that work?

THE PRIEST (Stares at him with a despiteful glance, then back into the phone)
Petru, you know what you’ve got to do. I, for one… I’m prepared!

THE MAN jumps up and grabs THE PRIEST by the throat, the he lets him go. In all his gestures there’s an expression of quiet, useless desperation.

THE MAN
You, you!… Listen, you fuck!

He grabs his forehead with his palms and moves around the room aimlessly. THE PRIEST watches him for a bit, then pays more attention to the man on the phone.

THE PRIEST (To THE MAN)
He says they’re about to sit down… Your wife has set the table and invited Dabija over… And he’ll tell your wife that he’s going to wait for you for half an hour, maybe a little more… But that’s the limit… Maybe he’ll have another coffee, even though he’s just had one… The detonator is in his chest pocket, just in case someone bashes the door in…

THE MAN
What does he want? What the fuck does he want?

THE PRIEST (Listening to the other one’s talk)
He’s got a list of names… People that need to be transferred or freed. Not immediately, he understands that that’s not possible, but he needs you to know that he’s willing to negotiate… I’d have to be freed, at first, and I’d have to walk out of here with the plan for the other’s release or transfer… He will call back in half an hour, and he’ll want to talk to me. If that doesn’t happen, he’ll excuse himself, say good bye and step out of the house. He’ll walk up north, towards Leningrad Plaza… He will walk and he will count… Eighty steps and over, between your house and the plaza is enough distance to make sure no debris will get to him. Now he’s asking if you understood? Have you?

THE MAN barely nods. THE PRIEST places the phone back on the hook and goes to sit down. THE MAN, now sitting down on his side of the desk, keeps on rubbing his head, trying to come up with a solution. It’s obviously the first time he’s in a situation with no immediate exit. He scratches his neck, then his ear. All of a sudden he jumps upwards and pulls the gun out of the holster, pressing it firmly against the PRIEST’s head. Looks like he means business. THE PRIEST closes his eyes, waiting for the shot. But THE MAN doesn’t shoot. He covers his mouth with his spare hand, vaguely bites his knuckles, and then, with a slow pace, places the gun back in its holster.

THE PRIEST (Cold and rigid)
If it matters in any way, it’s his plan, not mine… I didn’t know that was your home address, but I have an idea of where the place actually is… And I’m thinking… Forgive me, but I’m thinking about the irony of this whole bit. Practically, now you know what it means to reside all the way uptown, on the Revolution Boulevard, in the residential area, eight miles off of here? Eight miles off of the dust, the noise, the work and the misery of these streets… By the time you give the order… By the time you run to the exit, jump in a car and take off… When you’re about to hit Central Street, where the works for the new railway are in full blast, you’ll spend ten minutes, at the least, waiting for the barrier to rise… And then, if the entrance on Colentina is closed, you’ve got to make a detour, around the museum… Seven, maybe eight more minutes… Nobody to send over, and nothing you can do yourself… It’s almost as if… Almost as if you were locked in here. Almost as if you had all these walls closing around you like a stinking detainee, brought over to the interrogatory from a three by three solitary cell where he wasn’t allowed to close his eyes unless he’s spilled his guts during the grilling. Almost!

THE MAN
Is this your plan, priest? To blow up my family?

THE PRIEST
No, it’s not my plan. And I didn’t even know it was your family.

THE MAN
And this absolves you, you reckon?

THE PRIEST
I did not say that. There are plenty of things that I can’t be absolved of, that’s for sure. No matter what I’d do.

THE MAN
You know it’s impossible for me to free anyone… Even to move convicts around. Maybe that’d be doable, but it would take weeks… Months… And we’re talking one person, not three, not four, not ten. So that’s not a request. It’s just a legitimizing of a criminal act.

THE PRIEST
Maybe. I don’t know.

THE MAN
You know. And Dabija knows… He’s not stupid. He will wreck havoc and kill innocent people for nothing. All that bullshit on the phone… Nothing but an excuse to do it.

THE PRIEST
Maybe you can still figure out a way to move things around.

THE MAN
Don’t be stupid. You don’t even know how things work up here… The reasons they bring us in, the training, the rotation… (Sits silent for a while) You and Dabija… How big is your group?

THE PRIEST
You’re looking at it. But I have to admit, Dabija has made quite a reputation for himself with all these bombings out there… And this makes out group seem much, much larger.

THE MAN
But why me? Why this place, after all? Because of her? Because this is where that girl was interrogated and sent to trial from?

THE PRIEST
It’s not Nina… I mean, this is not for Nina.

THE MAN
For whom is it then?

THE PRIEST
Believe it or not, there’s nothing personal here… Or maybe it is… After all, hatred is always personal… But it’s all the same who’s at the other end of our rope. We’re the hanging class and you’re the executioners. Shaking in our boots, like sheep tremble in the winter, steamrolling into one another.

THE MAN
Nothing personal, you say?

THE PRIEST
All right, it’s all personal. That’s how you made things be… Your turned every glance and whisper into an act of rebellion, so you took everything personally. Then you turned everything around, and it all became non-personal. We ended up not knowing who we were, who our lovers were, whether we had any friends left or not. No personal relationship was left, you’ve tainted everything. So now, we don’t know. We don’t know who deserves to be praised… or to pay the piper.

THE MAN
You’re saying, then, that you aren’t behind any of this? That you’re not driven by retaliation for whatever happened to that broad?

THE PRIEST
Nina… Her fingers were so thin… And her skin was soft and white like no other… The skin that would get under your skin upon the simplest touch… If I hadn’t convinced her to stay behind schedule and help me move those canisters out of storage, she’d have been fine. Except some scumbag porter saw us… A bastard just like you, for whom a woman’s skin… A woman’s finger and her smile would not mean anything ever.

THE MAN
Is that what you think, blackbird? That I’m not capable of any human feelings? After I just kept myself from splattering your brains all over the wall for the thought of my wife and kids… Alone, at the mercy of a fascist pig. Don’t rush with the analysis, for you ain’t got it!

THE PRIEST
It’s not me, but you who claims that you feel nothing… You strike someone, and tell them to their face they mean nothing to you. Didn’t you just admit earlier that whenever a life question is tormenting you, you bash people’s heads in until they take you for a god? Can’t you see that you’re the one who’s built this image of you? A shameful, confused human being.

THE MAN
If I admit to this… If I say here’s what I am, a dimwit, a fuckwad, a low life two-bit officer of the state police… Or even better: if I record myself on tape stating how I’ve hit rock bottom in my job and life… If I purposefully fuck up my career… Can I get any guarantees that my wife and kids will be left alive?

THE PRIEST
You can’t get anything. It’s not my decision.

THE MAN
Look, I can’t help Dabija with those demands… You fucking know I can’t, not from here, not from this end… Not from this position… And you’re telling me there’s nothing else I can do to help my family out? Then what the fuck does that make you? How are you any better than I am? At the end of the line, we’re just the same… Two blood-thirsty beasts.

THE PRIEST
We’re not the same.

THE MAN
We’re not? Aren’t you a beast ready to blow up someone’s family while headed, on purpose, towards suicide? Aren’t you a sadist-masochistic pig?

THE PRIEST
When I took the name Gabriel, I could only think of one thing… You know who Gabriel is?

THE MAN
Not interested.

THE PRIEST
It’s the carrier of the divine punishment. The only one, in Christ’s army, who cleans up… Who does the dirty work no other angel would volunteer for. That’s what drove me to it, even though us, monks, are not allowed to purposefully choose a name… And definitely not an angel’s name.

THE MAN
But they allowed you to do it.

THE PRIEST
Father Meletie found it fit for the state I was living in at the time… He told me: son, my mission now, during the distress of losing a dear one, would be to ask you to think of God… But I have lost someone dear to me a long time ago, and all the prayers I’ve tried to raise up to the heavens couldn’t help me forget that person… I can’t therefore teach you something I don’t know about. That’s what he said to me.

THE MAN (After a pause)
Listen, you madman, are you really going to kill my family? Is this the scenario you have in mind? And get what, in exchange? You see that I’m tied up here, I’m as powerless to do anything as they come… Is this how the planning works? Where’s that famous step by step sabotage program you and Dabija have been concocting?

THE PRIEST
What planning? What program?

THE MAN
You said it: factories and plants, training schools for the communist youth… You’ve played it all like pros, literally announcing your targets in the „Spark Gazette,” one after the other, right under our nose… You’ve made fools out of the State Security elite, you organized everything as if you were working your back yard… So you’ve proven yourself… And now, all of a sudden, out of all the options, is this how low you’re going? Instead of fucking with the Communist Party, you take down two children? You blow up an innocent woman?

THE PRIEST
You’ve killed an innocent woman yourself, by sending her to do forced labor… (Sighing) And an unborn child.

THE MAN
Why is this in your head now, and why am I made responsible for it? The file says that Nina was interrogated here and sentenced at the Bucharest Criminal Court… They sent her to chopping reed in the delta… The slow death… But why am I the culprit here? I didn’t even investigate her, or I sure as hell don’t believe I did… I’d have remembered the name, or the crime… Anyway, back when it happened we weren’t allowed to beat the suspects. United Nations ruling.

THE PRIEST
You’re a stinking liar. You beat everyone up, you know you did.

THE MAN
We applied physical corrections to some names on a list given by the headquarters… Former politicians, lawyers, journalists… We’d receive the names every morning, along with the indication on how to conduct our inquiry.

THE PRIEST
Indication on how to smash heads… How to turn someone into a living dead.

THE MAN
Look, nobody here had any reason to beat up some skank who stole a few fucking gasoline cases in some provincial hometown… Be realistic! You just had it in for me and bang, I’m now on your shit list.

THE PRIEST
Maybe you didn’t beat her… But you must have beaten a couple of hundred people since ’45. Am I wrong?

THE MAN (In a low voice)
927.

THE PRIEST (Stares at him, amazed at the number)
How many?

THE MAN (Confronting his glance with his own, empty gaze)

1. 926 until this morning… And since the last baton you took in the back… 927.

THE PRIEST
That’s the number of people you’ve beaten up?

THE MAN
It’s the number of those who have received at least a couple of slaps throughout an interrogation.

THE PRIEST
You also happen to remember the number of those who died after taking the beating?

THE MAN
No.

THE PRIEST
Now you’re lying… And you stink at it. You do know how many died, don’t you?

THE MAN
I know how many died after being interrogated by others, before or after me, I don’t just know how many victims my interrogations lead to. There is some statistic somewhere, on some colonel’s desk.

THE PRIEST
What’s the number in there?

THE MAN
Three… Four hundred. I don’t know for sure.

THE PRIEST
You don’t know for sure, it doesn’t concern you… You only know what’s directly tied to you… Your cases, the inquiries you’ve been assigned with… Surely you know at least the number of deaths that occurred under your very eyes… During the interrogations that you’ve started and finished. How many are those?

THE MAN
What’s your point here? What, you’re going to pray for their complete return and bodily restoration? You’re going to perform a miracle?

THE PRIEST
There are no miracles in this place.

THE MAN
There are no miracles out there either, blackbird. There aren’t any, anywhere. It’s only this life that drains out through our bodies, and drains us out as well. Hard to live, and poorly put together. If you’re interested, I could tell you why you’re so keen on finding out how many dead were there after my inquiries.

THE PRIEST
Tell me, why do I want to find the number out?

THE MAN
To complete the lie you’ve been telling yourself. To become more convinced that you’re indeed a hero by choosing to blow up a woman and her two children. You’re trying to establish support for yourself, because you know, deep inside, that’s not the way it should be.

THE PRIEST
Not looking for any support. I’m just curious as to how many you’ve managed to put underground with your own hands.

THE MAN
You’re not curious, you haven’t been curious about anything since you got here. You’ve got a plan, and you’re sticking to it. You know why you’re here, know what you’re about to do… Perhaps you’ve thought it all through except how you’re going to feel once the deed is done. But that one… That could only be established afterwards.

THE PRIEST
I keep telling you this is not my initiative. I’m just the bait, sitting in front of you… And yours is probably the last face I’m going to ever see. So let’s pretend that I’m curious… Wouldn’t it be normal, at the last minute, to satisfy the curiosity of a man who’s condemned? To admit who you are and what you’ve done?

THE MAN
I don’t care about admitting. It’s you I’m intrigued about, it’s people like you who prepare, years in a row, to take some action. You draw the pans, you design the blueprints… And then, when time comes to go to work, you fuck it up… My problem is with the theorists of the revolution, with the petty criminals that still claim to hold onto some sort of conscience. And I believe that somewhere within, you’re feeling remorse for what you’re about to do… Which is why you ask questions, without being really interested in the answer. You’re trying to get in the good graces of whoever you think is leading you, from upstairs… You still think God might forgive you, after all.

THE PRIEST
Maybe. Maybe I want to redeem myself… But you should indulge me, especially since Dabija couldn’t have chosen you at random. If you said it yourself, you’re their backup plan, you’re the man among the investigators, you’re the top of this bloodline that grows on roots truly sprinkled with blood… How many have died at your hand? Come on, indulge me, tell me the truth, so I can take it with me where I’m going, wherever I’m going. The truth your family will never find out.

THE MAN
Does it matter?

THE PRIEST
It matters. It matters to be the best at something, even if it’s this… Even if it’s a crime against humanity, even if it’s a deliberate sin… Staying on the peaks is hard, even if you’re qualifying for the devil’s work. Don’t argue, you said it… Brought back from vacation because of your method, the best method, the best man… Blows to the face so the person will know they’ll never breath the free air again… Everyone you meet ends up telling it all… Everyone signs and admits to everything… You’re unbeatable at this game. How many have you killed out of that statistic?

THE MAN (Stares at the PRIEST)
I tell you… But, just for the record, my wife and kids are still innocent.

THE PRIEST
Just tell me.

THE MAN (With a bitter chuckle)
Is this how you obtain your confessions, monk? With a bomber at the other end of the line, holding a detonator?

THE PRIEST
More subtle than the way you do it.

THE MAN
Subtle? I don’t even…

THE PRIEST (Interrupts him, on a high tone)
How many?

THE MAN
Three hundred and twelve. More or less… Some died in their cell… Some at the infirmary… Most of them right there. On that chair.

THE PRIEST stands up and cover his moth with both his palms, terrified. Looks at the chair he’d been sitting in, then he slowly sits back down.

THE MAN
Feeling better now? More content for what you plan to do? Remember, I’ve indulged you… Even though I could have lied to protect my family.

THE PRIEST
You can’t protect them.

THE MAN
What happened to „the truth shall set you free”?

THE PRIEST
Three hundred dead at your hand… Out of four… Do you think this gives you the right to still call yourself human? To live like a human being, to surround yourself with a family? Live in a house among other human beings… Bring children into the world?

THE MAN
Aren’t we all God’s children? Isn’t that one of your credos? Where’s your faith, blackbird? Is it me, or is your faith mostly absent, or mostly weakened by everything that goes on around you? Tell me, when you put on the divine suit, doesn’t it bother you that you’re wearing it without an ounce of faith?

THE PRIEST
Three hundred souls… No, you’ve got no right to ask me anything, least of all about my faith. Practically, you’ve waived the right to do or have anything in this world.

THE MAN
Have I, now? And how did I waive it?

THE PRIEST
You took all your rights away. By your own choice!

THE MAN
You’re mistaken, monk. If you had any faith in you, you’d have even been able to pinpoint it. First of all, you can’t judge your fellow men.

THE PRIEST
You’re not my fellow men.

THE MAN
I am indeed… And your math is also wrong. When I got married I wasn’t an officer in the State Security… Neither when I had my first child… And when the second one came… Let’s just say that, by the arrival of my second child, I was merely an amateur in this work.

THE PRIEST
Compared to now.

THE MAN
Compared to now.

THE PRIEST
You bring the smell of rotting anywhere you lay your foot on… You stink of death, and spread the stench to everyone around you. You won’t be anyone’s fellow men, not to any of us. The honest, humble people that still wander this earth.

THE MAN
You, honest? Ha, ha… That’s funny, coming from a fucking insurgent who just happens to have a finger locked on a trigger… And fellow men is an expression established by way of distance. Anyone that’s close to you is your fellow men. An now, right now… There ain’t anyone you fellow more than I am… Because we’re staring at one another from three feet away… And because we’re both thinking about murder right now and because… Because we’ve both killed before. Right, blackbird? We’ve both killed before.

THE PRIEST stays silent.

THE MAN
Let’s be honest to the end here, how about it? We’ve found our criteria for closeness, but we shouldn’t forget the essence of it. Here goes: lack of belief. What do you think?

THE PRIEST
How does the devil know how to twist the words around… How easy is it for him to find familiar places where everything is different, where there are distances larger than mountains and seas… And how easy is it for him to accuse someone, anyone, of the unspeakable.

THE MAN
The unspeakable? Your thoughts and plans, right now, are more of the unspeakable kind. Mine’s are open to discussion!

THE PRIEST
To hear… To hear the devil’s diatribe…

THE MAN
Unspeakable is, in truth, an investigator who would beg the people to tell the truth… One who would accept being mocked without a second thought… Maybe with a smile… Unspeakable, if you will, is to be a communist trying to rebuild this country while terrorists of all kinds are blowing up your plants and your engines… Unspeakable is to become a monk, out of an atheist, only to seek your revenge. What is more diabolical, you disguised thug, the man who looks to kill innocents to defend – what? Do you even have a cause of your own? – or the man who, by doing his work… His work, mind you… It’s natural to step on corpses.

THE PRIEST
A job where it’s natural to step on corpses? It’s as natural as the concentration camps the Germans have built… As natural as Stalin’s Siberian mines… Mao’s meat lockers, and the prisons all over the world, from where the smell of burning flesh rises to the sky, have all been built on the same principle: the employee that supposedly wants to build a new country. But somehow they can’t do it unless they climb on a mountain of cadavers.

THE MAN
Are you about to rebuild this country differently? How will that work? So far, yours and Dabija’s chef d’oeuvre were some demolitions… Some burnt workers, some hospitalized, nine or ten dead, if not more… Even with all your care to make it victimless… Here’s my own curiosity: aren’t you going to quantify any of your crimes? Since you claim to be more humane, unlike us, the State Security. You always seem to find some comfort in saying that your dead are victims of accident, unfortunate people in the wrong place, wrong time… They’re all collateral damage. You don’t willingly smash their heads, you just happen, every now and then, to catch them in the crossfire… Or in bad aiming… (Stands up, yelling) That is unless you downright blow them up… In the name not of a cause, but some petty blackmail. You should know that some of your victims, at least today, aren’t more than 7 and 4 years old! And you’re humane! The vermin that dries up a tree’s stem is more humane than you are.

THE PRIEST (After a pause)
There’s no blackmail here. If you can’t give Dabija what he asks for, then you can’t.

THE MAN
And then? What’s going to happen to my family?

THE PRIEST
It’s Dabija’s call.

THE MAN
And you don’t have a problem with it? You know what his call will be.

THE PRIEST
The call will be his call. Whatever the call.

THE MAN
So, as a monk… As a Christian… You’ve got nothing to say here?

THE PRIEST
Morally… There’d be things to say. Religiously… I don’t know. You might have been right about my whereabouts… My straying from the path… Just like you now, I know what I can and what I can’t. I know when I should speak and when I should be silent. But, more than anything, I know what I am. I’m a pawn. I won’t interfere.

THE MAN
A pawn? No, you’re more than that. You’ve been together with this guy for years now. He’d listen to you.

THE PRIEST
Why should he? You said it and I know it. I know my place. Besides, I told you: it’s his call.

THE MAN
What about you?

THE PRIEST
Me?

THE MAN
Yeah, you. Don’t you have any secret wish? Any door that needs to be opened?

THE PRIEST
Not by you, you scumbag!

THE MAN
Look!… Dabija could have made that call without exposing you… Without sending you down here to suffer. I’m inferring it must have been you that wanted to be here. Maybe you came to see me getting grilled… Suffering… Is that it? You were willing to take a beating just to see me boiling? Moving around the office, like you move through your cells, and asking myself: why me? Why my family?

THE PRIEST
I was sent here for a reason: to be the bait. To explain to you how things are… Or better, to help you discover where you stand. Dabija needed you out of the house and needed time to set the things in motion. But I, personally, have no intention of asking for anything from you. You’ve got nothing I want.

THE MAN
Then you’re more of a murderer than he is. You beat Dabija, you might beat all those of your kind… Because with you, there’s no negotiation… There’s no cause, there’s no reasoning… You’re not a rebellious outlaw, you’re a cold blooded murderer. Involved in a senseless murder.

THE PRIEST
If there was ever a murder that made sense… God forgive me… This might be the one.

THE MAN
This might be the one that makes sense? My livelihood, my house, my family gone? You fucking lying and deceiving cocksucker, judging everyone from behind a fake cowl… (Stands up, makes large gestures) I will fuck up your face and drill through both your knees, then I’ll make you kneel on salt clods… I will hand you upside down from a meat hook and take apart your calves with a surgeon’s knife, chunk after chunk… And once I’ll catch Dabija, he’s undergo the same treatment… And that’ll be after I’d have burned into his skin, with the branding iron, a picture of my family…

THE PRIEST
You motherless beast!

THE MAN
Yes! Yeah, you cocksucker! A motherless beast, one that isn’t hiding or ashamed of what’s become of it… Of what it is… Tell me, really, were you expecting anything less? You must have had some sort of expectations coming by, you must have been at least interested in how this will flow with me… Since Dabija’s request is impossible to fulfill, I thought you’d come up with something else… On your behalf, to your advantage… But it’s you, it’s you who’s motherless… It’s you who’s without a soul. Otherwise you’d have asked at least for a phone call with Nina. See if she’s alive, if not anything else.

THE PRIEST (With a hopeful glance)
Would that be possible?

THE MAN
It’s a fucking phone call… It’s nothing, compared to… But who the hell knows now if even that’s possible? In five minutes time will be up… And I know I’d do anything to save my family.

THE PRIEST (Closes his eyes, imagining)
A phone call with Nina…

THE MAN (Walks around the room)
Yes, a phone call with her… If we happen to reach her. If she’s still there. Because if they moved her… If they assigned her to another work, or another penitentiary… It’ll take more than five minutes, asshole! It’ll take days… And lives… And I ain’t got lives to spare, you her me? You need to get your priorities straight, because if this goes downhill, the wrath of Alexandru Ungureanu will top eternal damnation… It’ll top all you can imagine, for there’s no escape. Then, there’s no escape. (More calm, sits down) But I could call there. You want me to?

THE PRIEST
Can you set her free?

THE MAN
I can recommend a re-trial… Better conditions of detention until the trial… I can, I don’t know… Make a request for her detachment to a closer prison… Or have her switch from hard labor to community service… Maybe at the button factory in Chitila… Somewhere close by.

THE PRIEST
Close by… Re-trial… After four years of reed, of heat and torment, after four years of working her candid fingers to the bone, Nina doesn’t exist anymore. If she exists, she’s not the same. Not the girl I used to know… Maybe only a shadow of that girl now, maybe a specter of her former self. But I, State Security man, am not a ghost chaser. I’m tired of shadows, I’m tired of familiar voices that I can’t put a face on anymore. So, don’t call! There’s no need.

THE MAN sits back down. Now his tone is much simpler, he seems even more sincere.

THE MAN
Now I should… It’d be natural now that I thought of… That I wanted to hear the voices of little George and Margret… It’d be normal that I wanted to tell my wife that I love her and that I will do so no matter what… Maybe warn them that the stranger inside my home wants to harm them… Or I should try and reason with Dabija… Maybe give him some inside intel, or play some double role… Maybe pledge for him to take my kids out of the house, at least the kids… But then Adina… How the fuck am I going to live without her? (Glances at THE PRIEST) I should, perhaps, crawl in front of you, blackbird, on my knees… To lie, if there’s any lying left in me… To promise to do everything in my power to meet Dabija’s demands… Humble myself and ask a bandit for mercy… Or maybe kill myself… I would consider each and every one of these alternatives seriously, I should contemplate them until they’re worn out and obsolete. But I’m not doing it. I can’t. Every such possibility is only staying in my head for a few seconds, then rushes right out, leaving me with nothing. I’m fucking empty, you understand? (Sighs) I know you do, blackbird.

THE PRIEST
So what are you going to do?

THE MAN (Checks his watch)
A few minutes and it’s over. That’s the only thought that stays. It’s over for my family… Over for you… Maybe even for me, who knows. And then there’s the fucking report sheet.

THE PRIEST
What?

THE MAN
I have to put this in writing. Your admission… Quite an admission, and you’ve been fairly cooperative… For devious reasons, sure, but you have, indeed, talked. And I can’t write it all down… For most people in this department it would be the end if I’d put it all in writing. I’d have to finish the report sheet and then send you back to solitary… On a stretcher, that is. (He rubs his forehead, impatiently) Did I tell you I know and applied successfully eighteen distinct methods of torture? Each involving a different body part and instrument of pain. Back in training, at the NKVD, they used to have a textbook of about 60. I could only learn one third of it. Kind of made my own choices… What represented me the best. But sixty methods of inflicting pain to an adult, until they faint… or lose their mind… That’s a lot, don’t you think?

THE PRIEST
The phone’s about to ring and you’re thinking of ways to torture me?

THE MAN
I don’t know any better. I have never, in all the years I have entered and crossed this room back and forth, thought about anything else but how to inflict pain.

THE PRIEST
You’re bearing God’s curse, State Security man.

THE MAN
You do too, you deceiving monk.

THE PRIEST
I do. I know I do!

They both sit silent. THE MAN checks his watch.

THE MAN
Dabija said that if he won’t hear your voice in half an hour, leaves the house and triggers the explosion. What if he hears your voice, though? Hearing is not proof enough that I’m going to set you free. And I’m sure he knows I won’t hold up any other bargains. I can’t.

THE PRIEST
I thought you said you made your peace with it.

THE MAN
With the killing of my family? It makes no sense. No sense whatsoever.

THE PRIEST
It doesn’t have to. It’s just proof.

THE MAN
Proof of what?

THE PRIEST
That you’re not God. That you don’t have the powers you think you have. That even if you kill me in pain, you will accomplish nothing. The newer generation of Security Officers will have to change their methods or the same thing will happen to them.

THE MAN
Why me? Why my house?

THE PRIEST
Not sure. I believe the Mute has chosen you.

THE MAN
What Mute?

THE PRIEST
The guy in the park… The one you were asking for the date and was making all those weird sounds… A miserable creature… He was working at Craiova’s bearing parts plant… It was some time in ’46 when he stole 10 parts to sell… He was sent down here for sabotage, and he happened to come under your supervision at the inquiry… You told him that if he counted up to one hundred in Russian, you were going to let him go… He counted up to 21, didn’t know any further numbers… Word goes around that you’ve cut out his tongue with a surgical knife right at this here table.

THE MAN grabs his temples, sighing. He seems to have reached his rock bottom, and for a while he doesn’t speak. Finally he glances at the monk.

THE MAN
Monk…

THE PRIEST
Yes?

THE MAN
You’re not really a believer, right?

THE PRIEST
God wouldn’t care even if I were, State Security Man. He’s got no need for the ones like me.

THE MAN
Listen to me… Pay attention… We’ll call DABIJA together, that’s what we’ll do. All right?

THE PRIEST
About time, too!

THE MAN
Right on! (He takes his gun out of the holster and places it on the desk) Take it!

THE PRIEST
Why?

THE MAN
Take the gun when I’m telling you!

THE PRIEST grabs the gun with an unsteady hand.

THE MAN
You talk to him and you tell him I gave you my gun… That you’re holding it as we speak… And that he may leave my family alone, because you’re about to do me in yourself… And you just do it! You take me out. One bullet, and it’s done… And then you keep speaking to him, so he makes sure you’re the one who’s alive, that there’s no trick. And you tell him to get on out of there and leave my family alone. You tell him to disable the detonator and lock it up in the garage.

THE PRIEST
What are you telling me? That now I have to kill you in cold blood?

THE MAN
Yes. And my family lives.

THE PRIEST
What about me? What about all the guardians out there? Aren’t they going to bust in here the moment they hear the shooting and take me out?

THE MAN
Nobody will bust in.

THE PRIEST
How do you know?

THE MAN (Shakes his head)
There have been shots in here before. They’re used to it.

THE PRIEST
They are? How am I going to make it out of there, thought?

THE MAN (Picks up the phone)
Hello… Who’s the officer on duty at the gate?… Put OANCEA on… Hello… This is Ungureanu, code 33104… Look here… In a few minutes some guy will be by, someone dressed in a priest’s clothing… Tell the gate guard to let him leave… Yeah, no questions asked… Yes, you heard me right!… Those are my orders, yes… No, I won’t give you any written instruction, you asshole!… Put down in your log this hour and minute when you received this call from me, along with the request… Write that Captain Ungureanu in 104 gave you a direct order, to allow exit for one man in his fifties wearing a cassock… (He hangs up, looks at the PRIEST) It’s done. As soon as you hear DABIJA’s voice, you tell him about our agreement, than you shoot me!

THE PRIEST leaves the gun on the desk.

THE PRIEST
Look, I… I can’t. I can’t shoot you!

THE MAN
You can and will, blackbird, believe me! You’ll do it, you hear me? You motherfucking deceiving son of a bitch, you’ve started this… You have started it and it’s up to you to finish… (Takes the phone) Operator… This is Ungureanu, 33104… Dial 0247, put me through… (Pause) What do you mean, there’s no answer? Why is there no answer? (Glances at his watch) Dial it again. (Long pause. THE PRIEST and THE MAN stare at one another, they both glance at the gun lying on the desk)… Hello… Try again for 0247… Dump all your other calls, focus on this one. Put me through to 0247 now!

As a faint, continuous ringing can be heard coming from the phone, the tension in the room is rising. THE PRIEST feels that his chances are running low, so he reaches for the gun, but THE MAN is faster. He presses the gun down on the desk with his hand. After long rings, finally a woman’s voice answers the phone.

THE MAN (Gasping)
Adina… Adina, I love you… Tell the kids I love them… Daddy loves them… No, nothing’s happened… Absolutely nothing!… Put DABIJA on. What do you mean he left? (Frozen pause) When did he leave? No, he can’t leave… Don’t let him leave the house… Go and fetch him, bring him to the phone! Don’t let him leave the house, you hear me? He can’t leave! (Picks up the gun and points to THE PRIEST signing him to sit down) Sit down! Put your ass on that chair! (Into the phone) Hello… DABIJA, listen to me… Listen well! I’m going to put DINCEA on the phone… And he’s supposed to… He will settle this, you hear me? Don’t do anything, you don’t have to do anything… All you have to do is listen!… DINCEA and I have figured out a way… You man will make you proud! (To THE PRIEST) Take the phone!

THE PRIEST picks up the phone receptor. THE MAN hands him the gun, he waits for a little while, then he grabs onto it.

THE PRIEST (Into the phone)
It’s me… Petru… He says if you won’t trigger the blast, he’s willing to die for them… He’s handed me the gun and wants me to shoot him in the head… Yes, so they can get off… What should I do?… Shoot? I haven’t shot anyone, ever! I can’t shoot anyone… No, not even a rabid dog like this, Petru, even this dog won’t get what he has coming from me… I shall not kill… I won’t do it!

THE MAN (pushing his head across the desk)
What the… Do it, you… Do it!

THE PRIEST
I can’t! I can’t shoot!

THE MAN
You cunning worthless sack of fucking lies and crap… I’ll save you the trouble!

He pulls the gun from the hands of the PRIEST and places it against his temple, shooting simultaneously. A loud bang. THE MAN falls behind, knocking down the chair, lying on the ground motionless.

THE PRIEST (Into the phone, aggravated)
He did it… He killed himself, Petru!… He shot himself!… I… I’m getting out… We talked before, he’s arranged it with the people outside… If I hurry, I can make it out of here alive… You leave them be!… Disable the detonator, toss it in the garage, by the canisters… Then run to the market, make sure you’re not being followed… I’ll meet you at the bridge in an hour.

He hooks the phone back on, then glances at the MAN’s body one more time, and afterwards he opens the door and exits. His footsteps are heard departing, more and more faint, followed by another door slamming slightly.

After a while, we see THE MAN moving down on the ground. First with slow motions, as if he’s attempting to regain consciousness, but instead we see him rubbing his temples and his right ear, then massaging his neck. He’s very much alive, just seems pretty stirred up by the banging noise. It’s obvious he has shot himself with a blank bullet. He puts the chair in uptight position and then he dials the operator’s number again.

THE MAN (Into the phone)
Hello… 33104 here… Put Oancea through… Hey, did the monk pass you by? Is he out?… I don’t know which way he’ll be going, my guess is south-east… Have VLADESCU follow him, if he leaves now he might catch up… This guy is wearing a cassock, like a priest… He’s a monk… No action, just surveillance… Have VLADESCU call me as soon as he sees where the guy is stopping, and give me a report… You give him a written authorization then bring it to me to sign… All right!

He hangs up once, then picks the phone back up and dials the operator’s number again.

THE MAN (Into the phone)
Hello… Operator… Ungureanu here, code 33104… Patch me through to the Public Militia, the precinct on the Revolution Boulevard… (Pause) Hello, this is captain Ungureanu from the State Security, Department One… Tell me, have you had any events reported throughout the last ten minutes… Like a blast, an explosion, something like that?… Anyone calling about any loud screaming or noises?… Nothing?… All right, thank you. ‘Night!

He hangs up then he walks to the window. Looks outside for a bit, then he returns to the desk and lights a cigarette. He opens up a drawer from which he picks up a textbook with red covers. He slowly browses through the pages, then he glances over the other side of the desk, as if the PRIEST were still over there.

BĂRBATUL
Rule 101 in the manual of the NKVD inquiries. At no point during the interrogation is the investigation officer allowed to bring along a pistol loaded with live ammunition. This being in the eventuality that the suspect, often a regular Joe, may act in such a way that they gain the trust of the officer and could, at any point, use the officer’s gun against him. (Inhales deeply) It seemed to be the stupidest rule in the book… For the officer is never allowed to trust anyone… Or lose control. He always has to have the upper hand… The right of life and death over the suspect. (Pause) But I guess I was wrong.

He closes the textbook and then turns on the recorder on the desk. He starts reciting on an equal, peaceful tone.

THE MAN
Captain Ungureanu Alexandru, code 33104 reporting. According to the investigation of the suspect DINCEA CONSTANTIN, aka The Monk, personal file 010042, I have reached the conclusion that the suspect has close ties with the DABIJA underground network. Such ties could have passed unobserved had the suspect not expose himself, throughout the investigation, by disclosing specific elements pertaining to already classified and top secret case investigations from the past. The suspect also attempted to threaten, through his collaborator, DABIJA PETRU, the safety and bodily integrity of the State Security Officer Ungureanu Alexandru. DABIJA PETRU remains still at large and object to our attention. I estimate his capture to be a matter of weeks, if not even days. It is for this purpose only that we… It is for this purpose that I have dispatched the release of the suspect in custody, DINCEA CONSTANTIN, aka The MONK who is about to… (Pause) Who is about to, according to strategies devised by me, State Security Officer Alexandru Ungureanu, lead us to capturing the main suspect and arresting the entire underground network run by DABIJA PETRU. I hereby mention that, throughout the interrogatory, I, the undersigned, have maintained a firm conduct, in conformity with the internal regulation and the nomenclature of the State Security of the Popular Republic of Romania. I shall follow through with more details in the days to come.

He turns off the recorder and squashes the cigarette butt into the ashtray. Then, again, he addresses an unseen interlocutor at the other end of the desk.

THE MAN
Blackbird, blackbird… You’ve got yourself a rematch… Which is not easy to get from a guy like me. Except if there is… If there is a world in which the two of us meet again, be it this or the one after, you’d better come prepared. Out of that place, wherever it may be, only one man will walk out. Never two. And whoever leaves there on his feet, will just have to bear his conscience on his shoulders the way it is… Dirty, worn out, shattered or cleansed, supposing that anyone could lie to themselves that much… They have to carry it along to the end!

He stands up and leaves, closing the door behind him. The lights fade. Only one stays, the closest to light up the gun left on the desk, as the main key to a story that might eventually still go on.